Honesty is the Best Policy
by Moczo
Summary: In which Kurth, Prince of Grannvale, decides to be helpful and honest with a young, grieving Arvis following the loss of his parents. Maybe a little too honest, and maybe not as helpful as he'd like to imagine. But it's the thought that counts, right?


**Author's Note: I have** _ **issues.**_

 **(*)**

 _ **Honesty is the Best Policy**_

 **(*)**

Arvis, Duke of Velthomer.

It didn't sound real. And how could it? Seven. He was _seven_ years old. And yet, both parents gone. His father, he had never really cared much about. The man was, even to the childish sensibilities of young Arvis, a monster. Drunk, abusive, thoughtless, treacherous… and a coward.

Suicide. Everyone said that was the coward's way out. They didn't say it in front of Arvis, of course, but he was small and he knew the castle well. He heard them talking when they thought he wasn't around. He couldn't argue with it, honestly. Victor of Velthomer had _been_ a coward, and a bully, and worse. His half-brother Azelle was a good enough sign of that; he didn't fully understand the details, but he knew enough to know that Azelle being born was a Very Bad Thing. Bad enough that Azelle's mother had never been the same since, and mother had been…

 _Gods, mother,_ Arvis thought, sinking deeper into the corner of what his mind still told him was his father's throne room, but which everyone kept telling him was now his. He hadn't been shocked that father would leave him. But mother. His _mother_. She had been… everything to him. The center of his world.

And she hadn't even said good-bye. His _mother_ and he was her _son_ and she had just _left him…_

 _No. No, I'm not going to cry,_ he thought, squeezing his eyes shut against the stinging tears. _I am the heir of Fala. A child of the Crusader of Flame. I'm a hero. A hero doesn't ever cry._

Arvis was only seven years old on the outside, but on the inside a case could be made that life had already made an old man of him. Now it had pushed him past that and straight into borderline nihilism. But he was stronger than that. He _was._ He would not be broken, not even by something that would have broken men triple his age. Losing both parents in one day? His father would have been destroyed by that. But he had been unworthy of his hero's blood. He was a coward and he had _taken the coward's way out._

Arvis, _Arvis_ would be the true heir to Fala. He reached his hand out to touch the one thing he had inherited this day that he truly valued; Valflame, the Crusader's legendary tome. The fire within rose to his call, glowing softly at his touch. It knew him as its rightful master, and it had not had a worthy one in a very long time. Well, Arvis would be worthy. He would take this power, and more, and he would _protect_ those he loved, not _abandon_ them. He would _save_ his people, not exploit them. He would be a _hero,_ he would change the-

"I was wondering if I might find you here. I assumed you'd be seeking quiet after the funeral, but too much quiet can be bad for the soul, young Arvis."

The young man's eyes widened as he scrambled to his feet. "Y-your highness! I…"

"Please, Arvis. You can just call me Kurth," Prince Kurth, heir to the blood of Naga and crown prince of all Grannvale, which made him Arvis's direct superior even if he _was_ a Duke now, walked into the darkened throne room, the light of the hall torches flickering behind him. "You've had a long, trying day. A bit of freedom from decorum is the least I can offer you."

"Ah. Um. Thank you, K… sir," Arvis said, compromising seven years of courtly upbringing the best way he could. "It has not been… it has not been easy. But I will be fine." He lifted the tome, and it felt as though it weighed nothing in his hands. "I have everything I need."

"You have the blood of heroes, and the support of a palace full of capable servants and advisors to guide you in your youth," Kurth said. "Those are far more valuable than any magic book, Arvis. Remember that. You are not alone, no matter how much it feels like it. You still have a brother. You have friends. And I will be offering you as much support as I can."

Arvis blinked. "I… thank you, your high… Kur… sir. But why? We haven't even met before today. You've no reason to look after me. And I prefer to face this on my own. I'm a-"

"A boy who is in pain, Arvis. And I want you to think of me as someone you can rely on," Kurth said, sitting next to Arvis and gesturing for the boy to join him. Obediently, the child-duke sat beside the prince, as if they were two children at a picnic rather than a future king and current duke. "I know that you and I have not met before this day, but I knew your mother. Cigyn and I were quite close, in fact. Caring for her son would… would be a good way to remember her."

Arvis narrowed his eyes, stepping back. "She's not _dead_."

"No! I didn't mean to imply…"

"You don't need to remember her. Nobody needs to remember her but me! She's my _mother._ The only person who's ever mattered, and… and father and his _women_ drove her away! That's what it has to be. She was perfect, so it has to be his fault. Their fault. I'll have them _all_ banished, that's the first thing I'll…"

"Cigyn was not perfect young man," Kurth said softly. "She was amazing. But she had one glaring flaw. And… and I must be honest with you, clearly. I want you to trust me, Arvis. And think of us as extended family, if possible. Someone you can rely on as you grow into your role."

"Your highness…"

"Kurth."

" _Your highness_. I request you please leave Velthomer," Arvis snarled, the flames of Vala burning in his blood as his ire rose. The tome in his hands cast off an angry red glow, making the temperature of the room raise instantly a dozen degrees. "I wish to be alone, and I will not stand for you _disparaging_ the memory of my honored mot-"

"Arvis, your mother and I were boning."

And the flames of Fala went right the Hell out, because there are some things a child cannot hear and maintain any ability to think. "What."

"Boning. Banging. Screwing. Making the Loptyr with two backs."

" _What_."

"I praised her Naga. I drove my Gae Bolg into her-"

" _Please stop,"_ Arvis said, trying not to retch. A major problem with growing up in Velthomer around the late Duke Victor was that Arvis knew a little bit more about such matters than any child ever should. He had always been oddly mature for his age, and really you can only maintain your innocence so long when you've walked in on your father with a prostitute more than once.

"I'm sorry. I promised to be honest with you, and I wanted to make sure you fully understood what's going on," Kurth said.

"I think I understand more than I want to!" Arvis said. "I… are you implying that my _mother_ …"

"Sheathed my Tyrfing?"

" _Please stop._ "

"Sorry. And I'm not implying it, actually. I'm just outright saying it: I flipped your mother upside down and went Mystletainn on her-"

" _Please stop!"_ Arvis begged, and this time he did throw up, because there was only so much a youth could handle.

"Oh dear."

"Oh dear?! _Oh dear?!_ " Arvis gasped. "I… sweet Naga I didn't need to know any of this. I didn't. Why. Would. You. Tell. Me. This."

"I want you to trust me."

"By _scarring my soul_?"

"By showing how much I care about your family! Particularly your mother," he sighed. "Gods, your mother. She was just… I'd never met another woman like her, you know. So kind. So gentle. So wise, and yet so sad."

 _Okay. Okay,_ Arvis said, taking deep breaths. _We can bond on this. Emotional stuff. I can handle…_

"And the things she could do with a pole and a bowl of cherries."

Arvis fell forward, throwing up again. The funeral dinner had been quite well catered. He had a lot to lose.

"You see, what I'm implying is that she took the cherries and, while she was _spinning_ on the pole, she would-"

" _I can guess!"_ Arvis snarled. "I don't _want_ to guess! I get the general idea! Please tell me why you think this is something helpful to me!"

"I'm building trust."

"Assume I trust you, sir! Please assume from now on, that I trust you! Stop building trust!" Arvis begged. "I… I choose to block all memory of this conversation from my memory. I will just remember that you loved my mother…"

"Often."

" _And nothing else._ This has… this has no bearing on anything."

"Well, I mean, it is kind of connected to your father. You read his suicide note, right?"

"… … … What."

Kurth coughed. "Ah. Well. Um, that would be a no, then. How to put this, Arvis? Your father was a great ma…" he stopped. "No, I promised to be honest. Your father was a _good…_ erm, a _decent…_ " He paused for a few minutes, as if thinking, before finally settling one, "Your father was a _person_. But he was a person with very specific ideals of how men and women should interact. And that is to say, he was allowed to have as… many _female friends_ as he wanted…"

"You mean women who made mother very sad, that she was not supposed to know about but she most certainly did because father was never subtle. And things that were Very Bad that nobody would tell me about, but they ended up with the maid being traumatized and Azelle being born," Arvis said. "Seriously, you choose _now_ to be delicate with your word choice? I have lived here all my life. I am fully aware that my father was quite terrible."

Kurth took a deep breath. "Your father was a _giant whore._ And he thought it was perfectly fine, but when your mother wanted to give someone an Agustria Twist…"

"What is th… no. No, I don't want to know."

Kurth explained.

" _I SAID I DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW,_ " Arvis said, after throwing up again. Gods, the buffet really had been well-stocked.

"The point is really that while your father was a great…. I mean, good… … … he had wonderful _hair._ But despite this amazing… good point, he was something of a giant hypocrite. So when he found out about your mother and I, he… well, his writing skills left something to be desired as well. He relied on the words 'treacherous whore' a lot. Like five times, I think. I'm not sure if he was talking about her or me, he rambled a lot. And then he killed himself."

" _OH SWEET NAGA WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!"_

"Eh? I didn't do anything, why are… Oh, sorry, you're still thinking about the Agustria Twist," Kurth said. "It's okay. Get it all out. I know that the uninitiated have some trouble understanding the purpose of the three forks and the…"

"Don't say it!"

"… blueberry pie."

"And now I can never eat pie again," Arvis said sadly. "And I'll need a maid to clean this up. Gods, the maids. I… gods, they had to live with father too. He did things like that all the time. _Oh Gods, he had a goat one time, what was the goat for?!_ "

Kurth whistled. "Damn, even your mom wasn't that freaky. And she did some _amazing_ things with…"

" _DON'T SAY IT!"_

"… Corn. I know, right? You wouldn't think it could be used while upside down and blindfolded, but…"

Arvis threw up again.

"You've had a long day, huh. Don't worry. It will get better," Kurth said, patting him on the back.

"Yes. It will. When you leave," Arvis said.

"Don't say that! I plan to be here at Velthomer as much as I can, helping you."

"Please gods no. You have already… you have _ruined_ all impression I had of my mother. She was perfect to me, you know. Perfect. And now… and now… _corn._ "

"I'm here to help, Arvis. And I will always be here. Think of me as like a more talented father than the one you actually had," Kurth said.

"I'm drawing some parallels on how well you've scarred me already," Arvis said. "I need to go… go raise the pay for the maids. I've recently come into the opinion that they deserve more money for having to live in the same country as my father."

"Your father _was_ known to love a good Thracian Surprise," Kurth agreed sagely.

"For the love of all that is holy, please never tell me what that means."

Kurth paused. "It would take me a few days to really get into the details, but the 'surprise' is where you put the eggplant. It really isn't where you'd expect. Your mom, though, she knew _exactly_ where…"

Arvis did not throw up again, because this time he fainted. Dehydration is dangerous in children.

 _ **Fifteen years later…**_

Archbishop Manfroy bowed his head to no man, but to this one he gave a rare nod of respect at the report his fellow cultist had given him, in their secret shrine beneath the Yied desert. "You have done well, my child. Thanks to your efforts, we know the name of the last descendant, and the path she took after leaving the Spirit Forest. She flouted all the rules of her ancestors, and bore children. Two children, each a piece of our larger puzzle." He chuckled. "Ironic. Descendants of the traitorous Maira are the key to reviving the glory of the empire he abandoned! But the blood, we have the blood we need. We need to find the woman, yet, but the man will be simplicity itself. Duke of Velthomer! He could not hide if he chose! And then once we find his new bride for him, Loptyr himself will descend in blood and glory to rule us once again! The child of the gods will be born in our life time, and the Loptyrian Sect will have our-"

The cultist, who had spent nearly four years wandering Grannvale as a traveling merchant, searching for every trace of the silver-haired woman from the Spirit Forest, coughed.

"…. I'm sorry, are you interrupting?"

"You, uh, misheard me, sir. I said, 'the eldest son of the old duke of Velthomer.'"

"And the old duke is _dead,_ which would mean his eldest son…"

"Abdicated. In favor of his younger brother, sir."

"… I don't suppose the brother…"

" _Half-_ brother, sir."

"Oh, that's just Lop _terrific_ ," Manfroy muttered.

"Magnificent pun, sir."

"Oh, quit being a brown-nose. There's still a chance, we can work with this. It would be easier if he was someone important, but the child is more important," Manfroy said. "Where is the elder child?"

The cultist coughed, and told his master the truth that he desperately wished was not the truth.

"…. Are you _serious_."

"Um… sir, the news is… well, not to put too fine a point on it, pretty… Lopt _errible_?"

Manfroy raised his dark tome and killed the man with a single spell. "My pun was better," he said.

(*)

Manfroy looked up at the building and had to fight down the urge to wince. Luckily, he was a consummate actor and manipulator, able to lull anyone to his way of thinking.

"Bwahahahaha…. The darkness rises, brother. I come to offer the black wisdom of the dark sect," he said to the door guard. "May I speak now to Lord Arvis, a great figure in need of my shadowy guidance?"

The man nodded. "Oh, certainly kind sir. Please take a seat in the lobby, and would you like some tea while I fetch him?"

"I shall have… _dark_ tea."

"Certainly, sir! Black tea, no milk," the guard said cheerfully, sitting the nice fellow and going off to find Arvis as requested. So wonderful to get a pleasant visitor these days, so few nice old men dropped by.

Manfroy sat alone in the lobby, gathering his black robes about himself, as if it could keep the general aura of pleasant serenity away through sheer depth of fabric between him and it. This entire building made his skin itch. He was not traditionally a nice person, being the sort of old man who told kids to get off his lawn by locking them in a small room with a hungry jackal and not opening the gate until the crunching stopped.

In the Loptyr Sect, this was called 'Sunday Fun-day.'

The doors into the room opened again, and Manfroy felt a surge of twisted hope as a man a foot taller than the door guard entered the room, brilliant red hair standing out against his white robes. He emanated power and majesty, and no child of the Loptyr Sect could have failed to sense the blood flowing through his kingly veins.

And then he spoke, and that hope withered and died much like anyone who spent more than about thirty minutes around Manfroy.

"Greetings, my child. Welcome to Her Lady of Perpetual Chastity, the most holy temple of ascetic monks in all of Jugdral."

 _Oh, this is going to be Lopt_ roublesome _,_ Manfroy thought, making an amazing pun and instinctively bracing himself to kill anyone who thought they could make a better one. He had few pleasures in his life. "You would be, erm, his grace Duke Arvis, then?"

"Oh, no, no. I abdicated my position and abandoned all worldly pleasures and possessions in favor of taking a vow of poverty and celibacy in the worship of Naga," Arvis said, so good-naturedly that Manfroy felt a little sick.

"I… see," Manfroy lied. "That is… rather extreme, is it not?"

"Oh, not at all. I knew from a very young age that it was the only option for me," Arvis said. "You see, as a young man, I had a very troubled past. I had something of an unhealthy fixation on my mother, who had abandoned me. And my father, sadly, took his own life. But I was saved, and taught a new appreciation for simplicity and the abandonment of bonds, by a kind and enlightened soul who had the grace to teach me the truth of the universe: Nobility and royalty are twisted, psychotic perverts, and the only way to achieve happiness was to flee them as soon as I could and drop it all on Azelle while I lived out the rest of my life in humble seclusion."

"I… see," Manfroy lied again.

"Oh, I know it probably seems silly to a wordly traveler like you, with your very fine black robes," Arvis said. "But I've truly never been happier. Peace and love flow through these walls like water through the high cliffs of the Silese mountains. And I am far away from the…" his tone lowered, and a dark cloud passed over his face, "… the _Thracian Surprise."_

"Is that when they ambush you with wyvern knights?" Manfroy asked, blinking in confusion.

Arvis made a sigil of protection with one hand, and leaned in to whisper something into Manfroy's ear. And with each word he spoke, Manfroy paled slightly more.

Manfroy was pretty pale to start off with. By the end of what turned out to be a twenty-minute long whispering session, he was practically invisible.

"With an _eggplant_?" he asked, when he was able to speak again. He had killed more children than some people had _met,_ and yet Arvis's words had chilled him to the bone.

"Two eggplants and a Isaachian butter-cinnamon squash," Arvis said, barely containing the horror in his voice.

"To your _mother_?"

"When I was _seven._ "

"How did you…"

"He _told_ me."

"I thought he was supposed to be a _prince!_ "

"He thought he was helping."

" _How would that help?!_ "

" _I know, right?!"_

"I… wow. I… okay, that's not ideal. I… I mean, I can see that learning your mom was able to bend herself backward nimbly enough to-"

" _DON'T SAY IT._ "

"… I see why that would be hard on a young man," Manfroy finished, diplomatically. "But don't you miss, erm… living outside? The thrill of politicking? And you know, you do have a duty to pass on your holy bloodline, do you not?"

Arvis narrowed his eyes. " _Are you an eggplant salesman?"_

"What?! No!"

"They come up here, you know. They want to turn me from my holy path. Make me… _sully myself_ ," Arvis said. His eyes were not facing the same direction, which was usually a bad sign in Manfroy's experience.

"… Do they?"

"If they didn't, then I would be _crazy._ And I'm not _crazy_ , of course. I am _completely calm,_ " Arvis said. His hair was on fire as he said this. Probably a Fala thing. "So it _must_ be true. Ha. Ha. Haaaaaaaaaa."

Manfroy had made a living arranging assassinations, dark rituals, and human sacrifices. He knew when he was looking at something a _bit wrong_. "Well. I suppose you must be right to… to drive them away. Then. They sound very unpleasant."

"They are. If I found out you were one. I would _be displeased,_ " Arvis said. Or growled. It was hard to be sure, and more to the point it was, Manfroy noticed, getting hard to ignore the fact that Arvis was about two feet taller than him and he sure _acted_ like he had a magical tome of divine flames in his pocket somewhere. If you've ever seen someone burned at the stake before, you develop a deep-seated desire to not have that done to yourself.

"I was just offering a theoretical scenario. I don't even like vegetables," Manfroy said. "I see now that you have no interest whatsoever in expanding your bloodline. And in fact you might take it a bit personally if someone were to suggest something."

Arvis was looking _someone_ in the eye, but it wasn't Manfroy. "That would be _evil_."

"And we would never want any evil to happen," Manfroy agreed.

"Do you _know_ where children come from?!" Arvis demanded.

"I thought I did, but until I met you I realized that maybe I don't know at all," Manfroy said. "Perhaps they just arise out of pure evil."

"No. No. They _come from the Agustrian Twist,_ " Arvis said. "So _yes._ "

"But you just said n-"

" _I know what I said!"_ Arvis hissed. _"THREE FORKS AND A BLUEBERRY PIE!"_

"I… see this was… something of a mistake," Manfroy said. "I'm just going to…"

" _I KNEW IT,_ " Arvis snarled, reaching into his robes for a glowing red-golden tome. " _Fleeing since I didn't buy the eggplants, huh?!_ "

"Wait, wh-"

(*)

Deep beneath the Yied desert, in the secret shrine to Loptyr the dark one, the young acolyte in charge of cleaning the main altar chamber stood up, wiping his brow clean of sweat. "Ahhhh. This would be _shining_ if it wasn't all made of dyed black sandstone. Everyone is going to be _so_ impressed when it's time to sacrifice a dozen children."

The doors slammed inward, then, and Archbishop Manfroy stormed in, trailing sand and, oddly enough, a trail of ashes behind him. The young acolyte was super annoyed at the sight of his perfectly spotless rough black floor being dirtied, but he was also _deeply terrified_ of Archbishop Manfroy. More people should have been, frankly. So while he was thinking, _I hate you , you miserable old bastard,_ (or more realistically, thinking, _Oh, how unpleasant,_ because when you hung out around Manfroy you learned to stop even _thinking_ things that might make him upset) all he said was, "S-sir?"

"I was _burned_ today," Manfroy said.

"… Yeah, they got Brother Steve last week too. It's like people dislike us just because of that one time we conquered the continent and killed like a million people. Though I'm glad you got off the stake, sir!"

"Oh, please, I didn't get burned at the _stake_. You think I'd ever get burned at the _stake_? I _wrote_ 'Stake Avoidance for Ye Olde Fooles,' check it out of the library sometime after you finish mopping this hideously filthy floor," Manfroy snapped.

 _Evil old son of a bitch, I hope you rot in Hell,_ (or more realistically, _Awwww, uncool_ ) the acolyte thought. "Yes, sir," He said out loud.

"No, the problem was _Arvis_. He is not, to put it mildly, pliable. We may have to look for another heir."

"I don't think there _is_ one, sir. There's the girl, and him, and I think other than that we're running pretty low. You know, it's ironic, usually witch-hunts don't really get any witches, but when people are running them for _us_ they actually succeed more than you'd think…"

"I… okay. Maybe we can rely on like, natural romantic chemistry. We just drop the girl on him, maybe he'll like her. What does she look like?"

"Almost exactly like his mother, sir. Really, who would fall for that?"

"… _Him,_ if this had gone right!" Manfroy snarled. "Loptyr's sake, he was _supposed_ to have an Oedipus complex you could hang a hat on, but now he acts like his mother was a toxic viper that tried to strangle him in the crib. How did this all go so wrong?!"

"… Wait, sir, our plan hinged on him being in love with his mother? That was the actual plan?"

"Yes, why?"

"It just seems the odds of this succeeding are… I mean, wouldn't that require a _very specific_ target to pull off successfully?"

Manfroy considered this. "Would you like to die?"

"I would not, sir."

"Then stop helping."

"Sorry, sir."

He sighed. "Okay. We can work with this, I'm sure. It's going to be difficult. We might have to breed one of them with someone else and then breed _those_ kids, but I'm sure we can pull that off. I mean, let's be blunt, these people are _terrible_ at not having sex. The literal only reason we even have a plan at all is that none of them worked out a thousand years ago that they could have defeated us forever by sticking to adoption for a generation."

"And there's so many kids who really need a good, loving family," the acolyte said, nodding judgmentally. "Orphans are much more likely to be caught and sacrificed by a dark cult, you know. We have records to prove it."

"Yes. Yes, I like it. The girl is probably going to meet a man soon…"

"She got married last week."

"… What, seriously? Didn't our spies say she only left the forest like, a month ago? How could she already be married?" Manfroy asked.

"She met him during the whole thing with Sandima, a few days before she left the woods. And then she married him the week after."

"… Dear Loptyr, what is _wrong_ with these people? It isn't that hard to not get married. Many people don't get married. I know a lot of orphans who never will, for instance," Manfroy said with a sigh. "Well, it's good for us, I guess. Say, I haven't been by to visit Sandima for a few weeks now, how is he doing?"

"Oh, he's dead."

"Eh. He was a douche anyway. The key thing is, we have a plan. I mean, we can still do this! We can _make_ this happen! We don't need Arvis! I bet he would have made our plan fail with his stupid red hair!" Manfroy said. "And when Loptyr rains death on the world, I'll make him eat a whole mess of eggplant."

"… Sir?"

" _Don't ask,_ " Manfroy said. "Yes. Yes, we definitely have this."

 _ **About a year later…**_

"Welcome to Belhara, Sigurd!" Azelle, Duke of Velthomer said. "Sorry about all the confusion, but man, I'm glad you were able to win the war because you had a real ally in high places."

"You're the man, Azelle," Sigurd said, his beautiful wife hanging off his arm and his young son giggling happily.

"I know! Thanks for getting rid of Lambert and Reptor, those guys were asses. Luckily, you're the most awesome."

"I _am_ the most awesome. It would basically take a random, sudden betrayal at the worst possible moment to beat my army of invincible killers," Sigurd said agreed, putting on some kickass sunglasses and doing a wheelie on his motorcycle. "By the way, you should worry about the Dark Sect. They were behind all that crap in Verdane and Augustria. I bet they're other places too."

"Well, luckily we have _you_ to hunt them down and destroy them with your holy sword… _Duke_ Sigurd," Azelle said. "That's right: You get a _promotion._ Lex too, since his awful dad is dead. And hell, let's give one to Tailtiu too, even if nobody ever uses her, just because her brother seems like a giant prick. She's duchess now."

"You're the man," Lex said, rocking the house with funky dance moves.

"Word," Tailtiu said, sipping some perfectly aged whiskey while serving boys gave her a foot massage, because everything was awesome.

" _And_ we made you a cake, because it's your birthday, Sigurd!" Azelle cheered. The royal guard came out, carrying a super awesome cake to give Sigurd for his birthday.

Sigurd kissed Deirdre. "You ready to go hunt down a dark cult and save the world, baby?"

"I am, because our happy marriage has left me energized and our child has zero evil blood!" Deirdre said.

"Check the stat screen to confirm it!" Azelle said cheerfully.

"And for your birthday present," she continued, grinning wickedly, "how about we… discuss the Thracian Surprise?"

(*)

Far, far away, Arvis woke from his meditations, screaming. He never quite knew why, but just to be safe, he walked out of the monastery, found a field of eggplants, and burned them all to ash.

Looking out the window at the pillar of smoke, the head abbot sighed. "I really do appreciate how much his family donated to the monastery, but this must be like the thirtieth time he's done that. What _is_ his problem with eggplants?"

"You think that's bad? Every year on Mother's Day he goes into the village and steals everyone's blueberry pies to throw them in the lake," the friar said with a sigh. "I quite liked those pies. But nobody ever brings us any ever since he screamed and ran away when he saw that village girl's bare ankle, then came back later in the day to throw rock at her house."

"Well," the head abbot said with a sigh as the smell of burning eggplants wafted over the monastery. "I suppose he could be worse."

"Tell that to the pie, man."


End file.
